


i've still got room to grow

by roswyrm



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Family Shenanigans, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Pre-Canon, Sibling Love, a nice hijink or two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-11-12 14:33:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18012683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roswyrm/pseuds/roswyrm
Summary: "Saira," Father says, fixing his tie, "can you try and keep Hamid from inhaling the snack table?""I can try," Saira says, because she's only one girl, and honestly, that's a lot to ask of her.





	i've still got room to grow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kalgalen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalgalen/gifts).



> Title from _Unfortunate Soul _by Kailee Morgue.__

Saira pinches her brother’s arm. “Ow! What?” he asks, mouth stuffed full with bits of hors d'oeuvres he stuffed in his pockets. ‘Second lunch’ he always defends himself. It’s not lunch, it’s gross. She pinches him again and looks pointedly at Aziza, onstage. It’s a fundraiser or something, and everyone else is being charming. Except for Saira, _oh no,_ she has to make sure her little brother doesn’t eat everything he sees. 

Saleh’s in charge of the babies and smiling at all the adults, and Aziza’s in charge of being pretty and good at singing, and Mother and Father are doing all of their banking whatever. Saira could smile at the adults. Saira could sit on a stage and play her cello. Saira’s good at math, she could be doing banking whatever! Instead, she has to snatch a cheese cube out of Hamid’s hand and whisper, “Stop stealing food from the table!” Hamid pouts. He looks up at her with watery brown eyes, and she looks right back at him. “I learned how to make that face too,” she tells him quietly, “so don’t start.” Hamid huffs and pulls out another cheese cube. 

Saira ignores him for a good twenty seconds before asking, “How did you even fit that much food into your pockets?” Hamid stares straight ahead at Aziza (in the middle of an impressive high note that Saira heard her practising for an hour this morning) and refuses to look at his other sister. Saira glares at him. He glares off into the distance, just to the left of Ziza’s head. Saira knows that he’s directing the energy of the glare at her, though, because that’s the sort of thing you have to pick up on when you have two — four technically, but the twins are too young to count — brothers. Saira rolls her eyes and starts paying attention to Aziza again. Fine! See if she cares! She’s going to watch the remaining half a minute of her sister’s performance, and have a lovely time doing so!

And she would. Except. Hamid never learned how to chew quietly. Honestly. Eleven years on this Earth, in this family, and he doesn’t know how to chew quietly? She pinches him again. Rapturous applause drowns out her baby brother’s yelp. “Ow _ww,_ Saira, that hurt!” Saira looks at him innocently. Hamid rubs his arm and scowls at her. With his dumb little baby face, he looks like a slightly less threatening ball of dough. Hamid rummages around in his pocket and pulls out a slightly green cheese cube. “I’ll tell you how I fit so much in my pockets if you stop pinching me,” he offers. Saira grabs the cheese cube and gives him a judgy look. She knows he’s a bit of a glutton, but it’s gone _green._ He can’t be that stupid, right? She can’t be related to someone that stupid. “It’s green because there’s a plant in it; Ziza said so earlier,” he explains, seeing the look on her face. Saira refrains from asking about the time Ziza tricked him into eating baking soda.

_“Fine,_ I won’t pinch you for the rest of the fundraiser. Did you get Mother to tailor them for you or something?” Hamid grins at her and pulls a small cloth bag out of his little pocket. Stitched around the opening is _Saleh al-Tahan,_ and Saira gasps and grabs at it. “You stole Saleh’s bag of holding? _For cheese theft?”_ Hamid beams and nods at her proudly. Saira shoves it back at him guiltily and starts toward the entry hall.

“Where are you going?”  
“Telling Saleh,” she answers primly.

Hamid squeaks and starts scampering after her. “Wait, no, you can’t—” Saira kicks off her heels and takes off in a sprint— _“tattletale!”_ he yells, and Saira turns around to blow a raspberry. Except, apparently, Hamid was faster than either of them realised, because as soon as she stops, Hamid smashes into her, sending them both to the ground. 

Cheese cubes go _everywhere._ As do several crackers, shish kebabs, and all of the other assorted hors d'oeuvres that Hamid’s been stuffing into Saleh’s adventuring bag for the past half hour. The entire fundraiser turns to look at them, two children of the hosts, tangled in a heap on the floor amongst what looks like half the snack table.

There are a lot of things that come with being an al-Tahan. An unfortunately strong bond with your siblings seems to be one of them. They don’t even make eye contact, her and Hamid, they just both know. Sure, Saira _could_ blame her little brother, and sure, he _could_ blame Saira, but then they’d _both_ get in trouble. And he may only be eleven, and he may have stolen a magical item for cheese theft, and he may not know how to chew quietly, but Hamid al Tahan already has a sense of self-preservation. So two fingers shoot out to point at the exact same time, and two shrill voices announce in unison:

_“Saleh started it!”_


End file.
